."

A jeering laugh was the only answer, but the tramping of hoofs suggested
that his advice was being taken.

When the sound had faded quite away, the Lord of Ivarsdale breathed out
the rest of his resentment in a hearty imprecation, and, turning, came
on to his patient. His voice was as gentle as a woman's as he dropped on
his knee beside the slim figure.

"What is your need, little fire-eater?"

A memory of her haunting terror stirred in the girl. Shrinking from
him, she made a desperate effort to push away his outstretched hand,
threatening him in a broken whisper.

"If you touch me--I will--kill you."

They were brave men, those Englishmen. The Etheling only smiled, and one
of his warriors chuckled. With a touch as gentle as it was strong,
he put aside her resisting hands and began swiftly to cut away the
blood-stiffened hose. Darkness closed around Randalin again, darkness
shot with zigzag lightnings of pain, and throbbing with pitiful moans.

The idea took possession of her that she was once more on the
battle-field, that it was the cries of the men who were falling around
her which pierced the air, and their weapons that stabbed her as they
fell. Then their hands clutched her in a dying grip. Horse-men loomed
up before her and came nearer, and she could not get out of their path,
though she struggled with all her force. The hoofs were almost upon
her... Uttering a wild scream, she put forth all her strength in a last
effort.

"It will be like holding a young tiger, lord," a harsh voice suddenly
reached her ear. She came to herself to find that soldiers were lifting
her up to the horseman, where he sat again in his saddle. She recognized
the squareness of his shoulders; and she knew the gentleness of his
touch as he slipped his free arm around her and drew her carefully
into place, making of his stalwart body a support for her weakness. No
strength was in her to struggle against him; only her wide bright eyes
sought his, with the terror of a snared bird.

Meeting the look and understanding a small part of its question, he said
a reassuring word in his pleasant low-pitched voice: "Be of good cheer,
youngling; there is no thought of eating you. I will bring you to a cup
of wine before moonrise, if you hold fast."

It is doubtful if the girl so much as heard him. Her eyes were passing
from feature to feature of his face, as the stars revealed it above
her,--from the broad comely brow to the square young